


I'm going to outline 14 different ways that I've found you

by oneworldaway



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneworldaway/pseuds/oneworldaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like a look of recognition and discovery all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm going to outline 14 different ways that I've found you

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I decided to go through Horse_ebooks tweets the other day, and I wound up feeling inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/Horse_ebooks/status/382504860777582594) \- which, let's be real, totally sounds like a good fic prompt. Chapter titles are also taken from Horse_ebooks tweets, because if I'm going to start an entire fic based on a joke we're all over by now, anyway, I might as well commit to it. This is going to be a series of 14 moments in which Myka "finds" H.G. in one way or another, but I may not necessarily need 14 chapters to make that happen. It'll all depend on how wordy I'm feeling, I guess.
> 
> Beta'd by my lovely friend [Bekki](http://giraffesandhappymeals.tumblr.com)!

It's cold and rainy outside, the kind of day when you never want to get out of bed, but Myka's up like clockwork, same as always. There's only one danish left on the silver tray laid out in the dining room; Myka clocked Pete's closed bedroom door upstairs, but she shrugs and takes it anyway. His fault for sleeping in on a Tuesday. A voice in the back of her head reminds her that she should save herself for that pack of Twizzlers on top of her dresser upstairs, but what the hell? The sugar hit will help her power through the gloomy drive to the Warehouse and another long morning of inventory.

Myka's is the first car to pull up outside the warehouse this morning, just as she expected. (Claudia’s probably strumming out the cords to a new song that came to her in bed this morning, or happily working away on one of the Warehouse’s outer firewalls on her laptop until her work demands she leave the comfort of the B&B. Artie usually arrives at the Warehouse bright and early, but Myka knows his back tends to act up on rainy days, slowing him down somewhat.) She dashes through the rain to the front door before her hair has the chance to frizz up too much, shaking it out a little as she strides through the umbilicus. She's working on some shelves near the front of the Warehouse today, so she won't need to use any of their more specialized (read: frightening) modes of transport to get there. She feels herself relax as she walks out into the stacks, happy to stretch her legs and take in her surroundings. She wouldn't trade places with Pete right now for all the Twizzlers in the world. The Warehouse was worth getting out of bed for.

She's only been walking for a couple of minutes, making it halfway to her destination, when she's surprised to spot H.G. in the stacks. She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Myka's struck by just how _bizarre_ this whole situation really is. The female H.G. Wells is here, in the present, Myka’s colleague, and here she is sitting on the floor. It's all a bit surreal.

Myka clears her throat to catch H.G.'s attention. "Good morning, Agent Bering," H.G. says brightly, looking up from the hardcover book sitting open in her lap.

"You don't...you can still call me Myka. Just because we're working together now, you don't have to--"

"Myka," says H.G., smiling warmly up at her, and Myka's heart does something akin to a backflip in her chest. Why does she love the way her name sounds slipping from H.G.'s lips? "Getting an early start on your inventory too, I see?"

"I didn't think anyone else was here?" says Myka, confused. "There weren't any other cars outside."

H.G. chuckles sheepishly. "It appears I've worked through the night."

Myka's eyes widen. "You've been here all night?" She knows Artie wouldn't be very happy to know H.G.'s spent the night alone with all their artifacts at her disposal, but Myka's more concerned for her well-being. She'd be lying if she said she hasn't spent a night or two alone in the Warehouse herself before, perusing the shelves and shelves of artifacts and learning all there is to know about them, but she can't help but worry when Claudia and Artie do it. (Pete values his beauty sleep too highly for it to be a problem, in his case.)

She remembers H.G. riding with her to the Warehouse the previous afternoon, chatting about ideas she had for inventions in the past and the modern technologies that corresponded to them now; Myka was fascinated. But she left early, exhausted from her late artifact retrieval with Pete the night before and their flight home in the morning, and H.G. said she'd get a ride back to Leena's with Claudia or Pete. Myka turned in shortly after dinner, slightly jet lagged after their retrieval on the east coast. She wonders if anyone else knows that H.G.'s still here.

"Couldn't have slept if I wanted to, really," says H.G. "I would've lain awake all night pondering this."

"What are you reading?" asks Myka, noting the small stack of books on the floor next to H.G., as well.

“I found these in Artie’s office,” H.G. explains, gesturing towards them. “I’m looking for information on the ‘From Hell’ letter.”

“From the Jack the Ripper investigation?” There’s a glimmer in H.G.’s eyes, something Myka’s seen once or twice before since they’ve met. While the others frown or question her when Myka already knows the detailed history of whatever they’re discussing, H.G. just gets this little look, and the corners of her lips turn up just slightly. Myka would almost say she looks impressed. There’s something else there too, though, that Myka can’t quite decipher. It feels like a look of recognition and discovery all at once.

Myka then follows H.G.’s gaze to one of the lower rows of shelves. There, carefully contained in a sealed plastic bag, is a very old piece of paper, words scrawled upon it in angry red ink. “That’s right, Claudia mentioned doing inventory on this once,” says Myka, her eyes quickly scanning the info screen beside the infamous letter. “I knew it’d gone missing sometime a few decades back. Why am I not surprised it wound up in here?”

H.G. huffs out a soft laugh. “That does seem to be how it goes.”

“So what’s your interest in the letter?” Myka asks, her eyes darting back over to the info screen. The letter, of course, was believed to be a fake, not sent by Jack the Ripper himself; but the human kidney accompanying it was very real, and it caused quite a stir during the investigation. The description of its properties as an artifact is to the point, like all the others in the Warehouse: _Makes others suspicious of whomever the user chooses._ Myka lets that sink in for a moment.The author of this letter became the prime suspect in the Jack the Ripper case for a while. It sounds as though the letter continued shifting suspicions onto the wrong people in future cases - allowing the right people to get off scot-free.

Inadvertently, her mind jumps back to Dickinson’s funeral, where H.G. recalled the events that led to her being bronzed. She’d scoured the shelves of Warehouse 12, searching for something she could use to bring her daughter back, and using some of the things she found, evidently, given her actions had somehow caused the death of a fellow agent. A hint of an uneasy feeling settles into the pit of Myka’s stomach for a moment.

“Some time after the Ripper’s disappearance, we were alerted to the fact that the letter might have certain properties,” says H.G. “One of the lieutenants at the police station where it was being stored suspected as much. But it was moved as soon as we were sent to retrieve it, and shortly thereafter I was bronzed. I’m curious to know how and when it ended up here.”

“Oh,” says Myka, and the feeling of unease passes. She’s only checking up on an old case. Myka would do the same, in her position. What did she think H.G. would’ve been doing here, anyway? Sitting here in plain sight and planning to frame someone for a crime? What crime would she even be committing in the first place? Myka feels silly now. H.G.’s begun to raise a questioning eyebrow at her, but she drops it as Myka smiles down at her. “Did you check Artie’s files?”

“The library was one thing, but I wasn’t sure he would take too kindly to my rifling through his files without his permission,” says H.G., smiling back, and Myka nods understandingly. She wishes Artie would quit being so hard on H.G. What more does she need to do to prove herself?

“Hold on a minute,” says Myka, running off and leaving a perplexed H.G. in her wake. A few minutes later, she reappears in the stacks, file in hand. H.G. opens her mouth to protest, but Myka waves a hand to shush her. “It’s fine,” she says. “He still grumbles at me sometimes, but it’s not like he’s there to pull out the files I need every time, anyway. He’ll get over it.”

She sits down on the floor in front of H.G., mirroring her posture, and opens up the file. Between its contents and what H.G.’s been able to glean from the books she’s been reading, they’re able to determine that the letter was snagged sometime in 1989, by an agent Myka’s never heard of. She wonders where he might be now.

Though they’re still unable to fill in all the gaps in the letter’s journey from London to South Dakota, H.G. seems satisfied for now. When she resumes where she left off with her inventory before getting sidetracked by the letter, Myka stays with her, helping her finish a few rows of shelves. By the time she thinks to glance at her watch, it’s already almost noon.

“How long’s it been since you last ate?” she asks, remembering H.G.’s been at the Warehouse all night. H.G. just shakes her head, but Myka reaches out to rest a hand on her upper arm. When she looks up into Myka’s eyes, Myka feels as if she’s been knocked backward.

“Come on,” she says gently. “The diner in town’s pretty good. And you won’t have to put up with Artie’s dirty looks there.”

H.G. smirks a little at that. “Well, when you put it that way.”

It’s only as they step outside - the rain having stopped at some point, and a few rays of sunlight just beginning to peek out through the clouds - that Myka remembers she never even started on her own inventory. She looks over at H.G. next to her, walking to Myka’s car. _Oh, well. I’ve still got all afternoon._

 

~

 

It’s just after 10 when Myka passes H.G. in the upstairs hallway at Leena’s, Myka on her way to brush her teeth, H.G. heading to her room. “Goodnight, Myka,” says H.G. “Thanks again for lunch.”

“It was no problem,” Myka replies, smiling sleepily. “Goodnight, H.G.”

She can’t explain why she turns around to watch H.G. go; it’s a habit she’s gotten into lately that only confuses her if she stops to think about it, so she usually chooses not to. (And on the occasions she’s been caught, H.G. hasn’t seemed to mind.) Her eyes casually flick down to the book in H.G.’s hand, curious to learn what sort of reading the renowned author takes to bed with her. Squinting, she makes out _The Diary of Jack the Ripper_ printed on its spine.

_Huh,_ thinks Myka, but she shakes it off as she flicks on the bathroom light. It’s not like Myka hasn’t obsessed over a case or two of her own in the past. And it’s no doubt interesting for H.G. to read modern writings on events she actually lived through.

By the time she’s drifting off to sleep, all she remembers of her day is the way H.G. looked at her when she touched her arm.

She dreams of horse-drawn carriages and time machines.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Last fall, Bekki and I went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour in London, and spent pretty much the entire time talking about H.G. She was the obvious choice for a beta.
> 
> Catch me on [Tumblr](http://toshikosatos.tumblr.com) if you want!


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